A Family Tree That Needs A Gardener

I decided to write about my family, more specifically the mental issues many of my relatives faced or face, mostly in an attempt to make some sense of what is hereditary or not. In order to understand myself, I have to see what my genetic information is made of.

My mother grew up in an unstable household and she craved a family bond that was never there. She’s a great mother to me. Unfortunately, she struggled with eating disorders during her young adult life because she needs to be in control of something, even at this age. She’s somewhat neurotic and strives for perfection. Sometimes her fixation with food and my well-being makes me angry because she comments on my fitness in a way that feels mean-spirited.

My father is the middle child and has always tried to do things his way but at the same time, he cares too much about people’s expectations. I think he feels that he hasn’t accomplished much compared to his older sibling. I know that he feels depressed but he hides it by being bitter at things. His childhood was him being ignored by his parents while they babied their eldest son.

My grandfather probably had what is now called PTSD. I overheard a conversation my father was having. Apparently, sometimes my grandfather would walk outside and was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice people waving at him. He was in the Second World War and had a gun pointed to his head. He was saved when a fellow soldier shot the German. It was a cool story to hear but it never occured to me to think why he told it so often or why he was so quiet after saying it. In many ways, we are alike. He was honest and funny and didn’t apologise for being himself.

My grandmother is somewhat of an enigma because she has no personality, except for many being a bitch and only caring about what others will think of her. She has some form of dementia so everything is nice and dandy for her because she doesn’t know what she’s done. Anyway, that’s another story. I think she was a product of her time, what women should be. Back then, she was destined to be a wife and a mother and that’s it. One time, when I was a child I made her cry by telling her that women didn’t have to be quiet and coy. I used to love her.

There have been many cases of untreated shit that’s gone on for too long, so I’m hoping to make a change. My family is a strange one but the moments that shine the brightest are when we’re laughing all together, telling stories in our typical fucked-up sense of humor.

I just… need to set some things right with myself.

Probably No One Has Been Perscribed Anti-Depressants This Fast!

Yesterday was less stressful than I thought. I guess your body and mind know when it’s time to man up and be an adult with problems that need solving.

I took the bus, there was one in my neighborhood that oh-so-conveniently passed right by the medical center I was going to.

The bus ride was uneventful and so was the time I spent waiting in this desolate waiting room. Let me paint you a picture; imagine a hallway, filled with sad posters that tell you to cover you mouth when you cough. There’s a distant drilling noise since it’s not just a mental health clinic, it’s an everything clinic and there’s a person having their teeth drilled by (hopefully) a dentist.

The appointment itself was painless. It’s not like I have anything against psychiatrists, I just never thought I’d be the one needing one since I’m so in charge of my life.

The woman was neutral, the beginning was awkward since she asked me why I’m here and what my deal is. It’s awkward confirming that you have problems, or at least it is for me. Sitting there and talking about myself to a person that has no idea about me is strange.

To cut a long story short (my appointment took around half an hour), it was decided that therapy and medication would help me out most. I literally just took my first dose of Prozac, so that’s that. I don’t know how this will change me, but she also perscribed me a light anti-anxiety sleeping pill which helped me sleep last night. I hadn’t been sleeping for a week, so this was a welcome change.

Anyway, I’m curious about how all this will change me, since I’ve lived almost half my life depressed. It’s never been as crippling as it has felt the past few weeks but it’s been a constant companion.

Back, Like Something That Returns After A Hiatus

And it’s time to make this blog more personal.

There’s an actual human being typing these words. And I’m depressed. I said it, without injecting tasteless humor.

I don’t know when the last time I fell asleep like a normal person was. Every night is my eyes begging not to be so dry, while my mind fights me and keeps me awake while I keep thinking how I have to brace myself for everyone’s upcoming death.

I’m scared of losing people, of dying, of wasting my time, of not being there, of being too late, of being too distant or too clingy, I’m scared of losing every single person I love and I’m ruining my life over it and it’s time to get some help, actual professional help, because being quirky and having a dark sense of humor just won’t cut anymore, no matter how invigorating I was, like a breath of fresh air.

Who knows what this new chapter will be like. I’ve never been to a psychiatrist. I’m scared and also not scared, maybe finally I’ll be rid of whatever is holding me back. I don’t know why my brain works this way.

I guess I’ll be less faceless on here.

I will have my point of view on things you never asked to read, but there will be shit that’s going on in my actual life. Like how this depression thing will go.

Cheers to whatever’s coming up.

With ultra regret,

Me.

Closure

yep

The thought’s been hovering in my head since forever but I still haven’t taken that final leap of getting closure.

My grandfather died in 2004… I think. I say I think because I’m mentally trained not to even ask about it. It physically hurts, even now. It was July and my sister, mother and I were at a local swimming pool on an island (we have a summer house there). It was all fun and games up until my mother got a call. There had been an accident and it was serious.

I remember getting on the first ferry out of there and it was all a daze. The very same night, we arrive back to the city and I know that I have to be there to see him because my grandfather would probably like it for me to be there. You see, we have always been best friends, almost in an us-against-the-world kind of way. I knew that me being there would change everything. My parents thought it was a bad idea. He had been hurt when a car ran through a red light and I shouldn’t see him that way. One could say he was… killed?

I guess that what I really wanted was to say goodbye. My mind goes back and forth on that, yes, it would be terrible to see him dying but then again, it might have made things easier in hindsight.

That same night my sister and I were told that he died. I don’t remember how I reacted because I pretty much spent the rest of the time wishing I had called him that morning just for a second, so the car would have passed, so I could have prevented this with such a simple solution.

I was already a strange kid but this fucked me up a lot. I didn’t cry at the funeral because I was so angry at everyone pretending to be upset, people my grandfather made fun and people that never seemed to care when he was alive. I felt like it was up to me to represent him so I couldn’t cry, I had to be strong.

Honestly, the rest couple of years were a blur of just lying in bed and wishing that my life would turn into a Hollywood movie. The movie where you wake up and it was all a dream. I wish that movie cliche happened in real life… but guess what? It doesn’t. I’ve never tried to conjure anything as hard as I wished my grandfather was alive.

The divide I always had with people now had visible boundaries. They could so easily get over things. Who the fuck cared about grandparents anyway? Weren’t they just old people who gave you candy? What kind of relationship could you have with them that matters so much?

Well, it mattered to me a lot. He was my best friend and this loss haunts me a lot. I don’t know when it will become a fond memory, how many decades are supposed to pass me by? Let’s try and put down those countless dreams where I randomly see him in a crowd and holy fuck, the mind can be so scary because I can see him in every single detail. And I’m always asking him how come he’s here, he’s dead, long gone, how can he be here and talking to me?

I don’t like to admit to bring him up but it’s not healthy to react to his memory in sadness and tears anymore. I want to remember how he hated having people over and would wear his pajamas and proclaim loudly to the guests that he was sleepy.

So… I want to get closure.

That’s by confronting family members instead of having fantasies about it.

That’s by going to the cemetery and visiting his grave for the first time since he was buried. I’m not religious or spiritual but knowing that there’s just a layer of dirt between us feels soothing.

I think I’d like to do that.

 

Writing What I Haven’t Said In Person Yet

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I don’t know what you truly believe about yourself. I don’t even know why you have that perception of yourself and it’s not my place to ask until you’re ready to do talk about that… and it’s okay if you never get there.

I just wanted to say that you’re the first person that’s felt trusting and safe to me. Even if I’m not completely open, you’re the one person I’m sure would be there for me. I’m never ever going to forget that summer where you commited to this thing we were doing and helped me every single day, it was more than I could have ever asked and that speaks volumes to me.

In a perfect world, I’d be able to erase whatever you’re going through because you deserve feeling happy. You are like a magnet in every place you are, even if you can’t see it, even though it’s a struggle sometimes.

Ultra cringe, enjoy.